Pyramid Scheme
by Rhys Quinn
Summary: Pansy bounces between Draco, her boyfriend, and Harry, her escape. Complete, I don't know how I would carry on with this story just yet.


Title: Pyramid Scheme

Author: Rhys Quinn

Summary: Pansy bounces between Draco, her boyfriend, and Harry, her escape.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter in any way, shape, or form.

* * *

_Ouch!_

_Merlin, don't grab me there! That hurt, you moron!_

_I hope this hurts you, Draco, I really do!_

_Sonuva- Whatever. Just hurry up already. _

_Well, I've been with worse._

_I'd say that you're right up there with Draco, and that's saying something, especially considering you're damn drunk!_

_Don't breathe on me, I can't stand it._

_Wait! I didn't tell you to go! Get your butt back over here!_

_Never mind that you reek of firewhiskey. This is what I wanted . . . Exactly what I wanted._

_Don't go . . . _

_Good night, jerk!_

---

Once more, I wake up to Millicent Bulstrode's grinning horse face. Honestly, I'd flat out tell her she's ugly as sin if she wasn't my best friend. Best friends are allowed to lie to each other every once in a while. That's what Harry said the other night. Golden Boy tells white lies! Can you believe it?

Great, I'm channeling Potter at six in the beepin' morning.

Beepin'?

Oh, I forgot. I'm trying not to swear too much anymore. Millicent and I started a swear jar, and the person who puts the least amount of money in it gets to keep the entire pot.

Yeah, Slytherin girls get _that _bored. Pathetic, huh?

Mil's grinning at me still, and she's breathing on me to boot. Ever heard of a breath mint? Never mind, it's morning so mine probably isn't that fresh, either.

She's shaking the jar at me. Why the beep is she shaking that jar at me? Merlin, she's giggling now. Apocalypse has come, ladies and gents, take cover, women and children first, eat the bigger ones, because the skinny ones have no meat.

Am I warped, or what?

"And that's saying something, especially since your beep drunk? Who have you been dreaming of, Pans? I know it sure isn't Draco!" Mil grins even wider, which I didn't think was possible. I swear the girl has a Silly Putty mouth.

"Of course it's not Draco," I say as I throw a sickle into the jar," The poor boy can't handle his firewhiskey at all. We both know that." Draco could handle damn near any type of Muggle liquor, but he was under the table when it came to the good stuff. He stopped drinking with the other boys a few weeks ago, about the same time I ran into the lovely Mr. Harry Potter.

Mil claps her hands with delight as she thumps down on the bed. Of course she wouldn't care if I was with someone other than Draco every once in a while; she knew all about our problems. Draco hasn't payed attention to me in nearly a month, not any real attention. He won't even hug me in the hallway, for Salazar's sake! A girl can only take so much before her appetites take control.

And boy, did my appetites take control!

"And you can't look down on me Mils," I continue, "You know what he's put me through. I swear I'll turn into a regular Ice Queen if things go on like this much longer." I know I said that she probably wouldn't care, but sometimes it's better safe than sorry. Millicent's mood swings can be wilder than mine, and, as I've mentioned before, she has quite a mouth on her.

"Well, who is he then? I know he's not in Slytherin . . . No boy here would dream of crossing Draco . . . Ravenclaw? Yeah, you'd do with a Ravenclaw." I shake my head.

"Pansy! You can't mean to tell me," she yelps, louder than necessary," that you've got a - a - a Hufflepuff? They're adorable, darling, but that's it! They're too . . . do-goody for us, ya know?" Her voice is an octave higher than usual, and at least ten times louder. I lean over and press my finger to her mouth, making a shushing noise. I don't need Draco, or any other Slytherin boy for that matter, to hear our conversation. Mil was right; most of the boys are wrapped around Draco's fingers now. His and Theodore Notts' fingers.

"Not even a Hufflepuff, dear. You think I'd sink that low?" I roll my eyes. "Honestly, look at who I've got now! Draco beepin' Malfoy!" And now I use my old Gilderoy Lockhart impression, " I aim high, Millicent Robina Bulstrode, I aim high! I've got damn Harry Potter." I drop another sickle into the jar. Mil looks ready to faint; she's pale as a chess piece, and about as rigid as one, too.

I laugh. I laugh so hard that I fall off the bed and onto the floor. Mil must think I'm joking, because she's laughing right along with me. She's crawling to the side of the bed that I fell off of and looking down at me.

"You're funny, Pansy, but Harry Potter is lower than low. He'd never go for a Snake like you!" There's a tinge of bitter humor in her voice, a bit of jealousy. She hardly ever went on dates when we were younger, and now she's been with Crabbe for the last six months. I don't think she's happy with him, but I know she won't end it. She's afraid of being alone.

Like I am.

My smile fades and hardens into a scowl. I'm moody, if you haven't guessed by now. "I was with Harry Potter Monday night, and I'm seeing him again tonight!" I shove myself up from the floor and stomp to the stairs leading to the common room. I don't care if I'm in my pajamas, shorts and a tank, because no one else will be up right now. I can't believe it's two in the damn morning.

Ha, think-swearing doesn't count! Take that, Mil!

I'm upstairs now, and it's cold in here. Who the hell ever heard of turning a dungeon into a common room and dorms. A dungeon! Slytherins may be cold-hearted, but we aren't made of ice!

Crap! I don't think Mil and I are the only ones awake. Yes, she snuck down here after me. Told you, she has dependency issues, fear of abandonment. We're both staring at the stairs leading down to the boys dorm, where loud metal is blaring up to us. Muggle metal music, in an entirely pure-blooded house. Someone's got some guts in him. Mil is grabbing at my arm.

"Eh, it's probably Draco. You know how much of a freak he can be." Draco was slowly alienating himself from the magical world, for reasons unknown, starting with music. He says he can't stand the sound of bagpipes, especially in rock music, and he absolutely loathes how 'artificial' everything sounds. 'At least, if they're screaming,' he once said, ' they're putting some emotion into it. That boyband trash only has imitation lust in it.'

Imitation lust? Merlin, Draco's becoming a bleeding, emotional artist! With Muggle influences! He's supposed to be a pureblood . . . Will wonders never cease? Maybe it's just a phase, some male fantasy that I'm not aware of.

Loser.

I think I'm starting to hate him. I really think I am.

I'm bored with listening to Draco's special brand of music, so I drag Mil over to one of our common room's overstuffed, worn-out couches. Mil mutters some fire spell that I never bothered to learn, and a merry green fire springs to life. Green, of course, to match the dungeon's absolutely _lovely_ decor.

"So, you're seeing Potter?" I cringe. It sounds so harsh when it comes out of her mouth, like it's an accusation.

"I asked you not to accuse me, Mil . . ."

"Who's accusing you? I'm not accusing you, I'm just repeating what you told me. And I may just keep repeating this information unless I get something new to chew on . . ." Mil gives me a devious look. She's too interested to care much about anything other than the sex lives of Hogwarts. It's kind of creepy, but great for blackmail.

"Don't be so damn loud," I snap. Her hand juts out, so I drop another sickle in it. I've taken to carrying a whole role of sickles with me everywhere. I swear so damn much, it's not even funny.

"And yes, I told you already that I'm with Potter. I wish today would hurry up and be over with so much, Mil!"

Mil smirks at me a bit, no doubt thinking the whine in my voice is amusing. How many times have I made her sit through this? First about Draco, then Blaise, then Theodore, Draco again, Cedric Diggory, and finally Draco again. Probably even more often than that; I change crushes like underwear.

Suddenly, the screaming in the background is shut off and a door slams open. It hits the stone wall with a dull thud that sent vibrations throughout the entire common room.

Draco is coming into view, blonde bed-hair and puffy eyes giving him a sickly look. He's getting awful skinny, too. I wish I knew what was wrong with him. He just keeps pushing me away, so far away that I had to go to someone else. My stomach ties itself into knots of guilt and pity when he presses his chapped lips to my cheek and whispers a good morning. I squeeze his hand.

"It's a wonder you didn't wake up the entire House, Draco, with all that screaming. Coming to breakfast, baby?" I already know the answer to this question, but I feel obligated to ask anyway. May as well pretend that I'm a good girlfriend.

"You know I don't eat breakfast, Pansy," he growls. Without another word, Draco stalks off, presumably to take a shower. I think I know him better than that, though. After all, Draco _has _lost interest in me . . .

I wonder who he keeps in the closet?

That's my justification for cheating on Draco: I know that he's cheating on me. Odd bruises on his arms that he says he got from practice (which he doesn't even go to anymore!), moon-shaped scratches on his arms that he doesn't even try to explain, the other name he called out. Yes, Draco once yelled out 'Gina!' when we were together, successfully cementing old suspicions. Now, if I only knew which Gina it was . . .

There are thirty girls at school who go by the name Gina, whether it's given or not, and I don't have enough time to investigate every damn one of them. So, instead of getting even by beating the little whore to the underworld, I'll get ahead. Lovely Slytherin logic at its finest.

For some odd reason, Mil felt compelled to kick me.

"Dammit, Millicent! That hurt!" I throw another sickle at her and nurse my injury, sending an accusatory glare at her every few seconds. Mil has her arms crossed over her ample chest, also glaring.

"Are you gonna continue or what, bi-," she begins to yell. I guess she suddenly realized that she was about to swear at me, and she didn't have many sickles to give away at the moment. Crabbe's been borrowing more than he's been returning, leaving poor Mil dirt broke until mummy or daddy sends her some more cash.

"There's nothing else to say. We just kind of fooled around a little . . ."

"Pansy Parkinson, there is no such thing as 'fooling around a little'. Merlin, are you a third year or something? You're either cheating on Draco, or you're not. No halfway points!" Mil is angry with me now, probably because she saw the state Draco was in. It is a bit of slap in the face to see him looking so pathetic when he was once so proud. He looks like he's killed someone and can't handle the guilt. Anything but Death Eater material.

"Look, just forget I said anything," I mutter," I need to get a shower."

Just like Draco, I stalk out of the common room.

---

"Harry," I breathe pathetically, needily. It's just not fair, I never get any attention! If Draco would just acknowledge my existence, do something other than growl at me, just once, this wouldn't be happening. Harry says nothing, choosing to let his staccato breathing do the talking, matching me gulp for gasping gulp.

It's good to know that Harry Potter actually wants me when he's sober. Last time was fun, but it was also the first time. I was afraid that it had been some kind of inebriated mistake. I thought he mistook me for that Weasley girl or, even worse, Hermione Granger. Can't you just imagine him with those two? That's lower than low!

I'm angry with him now, so I bite down on his lip. See if I get a reaction.

Well, if you count pushing me against the wall and grabbing hard enough to bruise as a reaction, it's a big reaction. A few months ago I would have screamed, slapped him senseless, begged for help, but not now. A few months ago it would have been Draco, and Draco didn't do things like that. This is Harry Potter, and Harry loves crap like this, so I do, too. His grip loosens, just a bit, but it's not because he realized that he's cutting off my circulation. No, he just 'discovered' where the back of my bra is for at least the sixteenth time.

"Can we at least take this to a broom closet or something, Potter? I don't want to get caught with your hand stuck in the cookie jar," I hiss, substituting my bra with a cookie jar to preserve a scrap of modesty. He grunts, and we slip off to find a broom closet, making occasional detours when we just can't help ourselves.

---

I feel a bit guilty right now. It's Friday night, about seven o' clock, and the majority of the school is sitting in the Great Hall to listen to our 'wonderful' upperclassmen choir. They're 'wonderful' because they can now work spells while singing . . . Wowee. Right now, they're singing a snappy little African chant and there's a veldt with lions and elephants and zebras and all sorts of creatures floating above our heads. Terrence the Nose-picker is standing with a couple tenors in the second row, and he's just itching to put his finger to use. Haha, what a loser!

I never really liked Terrence, and it's not just because he's a Hufflepuff wimp. He's got this horrible scratchy voice that cracks when he's about to laugh, and he has the habit of breathing through his mouth all of the time. Draco and I are currently discussing the reasons why he could be in the upperclassmen choir.

"Maybe he slept with the teacher," offers Draco." A lot of kids do that now to get the grade." I stare at him blankly, because this is news to me. Not that students in general sleep with teachers, but that Hogwarts students sleep with Hogwarts teachers! I mean, gag! Have you seen the teachers here?

"Yeah, there was a Ravenclaw a few years ago who got with Lockhart to pass his class. Seems she spent her entire time drooling and never did her assignment. Why she liked him so much is beyond me, he's damn near the dumbest guy I've ever met." And he goes on and on about how much he dislikes Lockhart. Yawn. I space out on the conversation and look around for Harry and his little harem. Far back corner, surrounded by yawning Lions, his head is bowed and he's obviously asleep. Lucky him.

Oh, Merlin! Draco's put his hand on mine, and I'm still looking at Harry! Shit! Did he see me looking at someone else?

No. Draco's staring at Lizette, a well-endowed Slytherin girl that I've never really had the chance to talk to before. I would so slap him right now, but I won't (out of fairness) since I was guilty of the same crime.

Wait - since when have I ever been fair?

I jab Draco with my elbow, and his attentions slowly, reluctantly, turn back to me. I can feel his arm wrapping slowly around my waist. Smart move. He pulls me in and rests his head on my shoulder. Very smart move. He lifts my hand to his lips and kisses them lightly. The boy is a genius. I guess I have to return the favor now, don't I? I drop my hand on his thigh.

We sit like this for another twenty minutes, enduring Oom-pah-pahs and patriotic anthems and every other style of song meant to torture the youth. Flags and dancing couples swirl above our heads, but it's starting to lose its style and flair. The choir looks exhausted. Draco, like Harry, has fallen asleep. His head is a dead weight, and his breath burns my neck until it's raw and black.

Well . . . It _feels _like it's raw and black.

Dumble-face stands up from his seat and applauds loudly, with his annoying enthusiasm, while the rest of the population manages to make their hands meet once or twice before fleeing to the comfort of beds and common room fires. Draco grabs my wrist as I stand up.

"Look, I'm going with Nott and Zabini. Research for potions," he says, not quite telling the truth. I can tell because he doesn't need to do a bit of research in potions since Snape thinks he's A-1 or something. The only thing he'll be researching tonight is the depth of a full beer bottle. But whatever, I'm cool with it. It'll keep him out of my way. I lean forward and kiss him on the cheek.

"No complaints, baby! Good luck with that assignment," I respond brightly, suddenly feeling wide-awake.

---

Potter found the cookie jar again . . . and then some. I'm kind of achey right now. I guess he was feeling a bit more aggressive than usual, but, dammit, that hurt. Yeah, damn near beat the crap out of me, and he's sleeping in the damn corner!

I'm standing in the corner adjacent to him, staring at the door of the broom closet on the left-hand side of the fourth level of Hogwarts. I'd kill for a cigarette about now. I'd kill for anything, just take my mind off the pain! I think my hips will be permanently purple from now on. The Golden Boy stirs in the corner, then slowly sits up.

"I hope I didn't hurt you too bad, Pans," he begins, rubbing at the claw marks I left on his stomach. There's nothing wrong with returning the favor, especially when it's fun for you. The blood has congealed for the most part, though his lazy hands knocked a scab loose.

"Hey, Harry," I begin, "Do you think we can take a bit of a break?"

---

Potter's not looking at me, and Draco is asleep on the table. Snape is stalking about like the oversized bat that he is, telling Granger that she's a failure. Granger stares at him cooly. Her little puppet - Weasley - is glaring daggers at him. Fifteen points taken from Gryffindor.

Draco slowly wakes up, in the same way that Harry Potter does, and I feel a twinge throughout my entire body. It's an odd sort of twinge because it's not one single emotion. My toes to my legs, it's all numb. My lower middle feels warm but frigid. Everything behind my ribs just shudders violently. My neck becomes steel. My head's got a bass drum pounding in it, and this awful little voice is nagging me about ditching him last night.

What's worse, I can't tell who I felt it for.

"Did I miss anything good?" Draco blinks the sleep away from his eyes as he attempts to focus on me.

"The Trio just blew it for Gryffindor again," I whisper, adding in diced silkworms to my cauldron. In other words, you didn't miss a thing.

---

Mil throws a sickle into the swear jar. In fact, she throws in a grand total of five sickles. Her mother just sent her the monthly allowance, which I will be keeping for her so her lover-boy doesn't spend it all. If I have my way, he won't even know that she has a purse to keep it all in. "Shit! DAMN! Shit! Damn! DAMN!"

"Been holding that in for a while, I see," I tease.

"You have no idea, you stupid beep." Guess she ran out of money already. I can't collect any more from her . . . Oh well. I tally five to Mil's name on our Swear Sheet. We're tied now.

"Perhaps you should work on your vocabulary. Wanna tell me what happened, or would you rather contribute a bit more to the jar? Let me guess, your Darling Dearest found out that you got some more money this week." The look on her face when I say 'Darling Dearest' is too much for words, and I double up laughing.

I stop when I realize that Mil is anything but amused.

"No. The dunce hasn't spoken to me in three days." I look at her with surprise, knowing that Millicent couldn't care less if Crabbe never spoke to her again. Apparently she noticed, because she quickly informs me that Crabbe has nothing to do with the problem. "In fact, it's all your little Savior's fault. He misses you in the worst way."

Mil tosses a little crumpled note in my direction, then leaves the dorm so I can read in privacy. How polite of her. It probably would have been even more polite if she hadn't yelled out, "And tell him he's as good as dead if he ever tries to talk to me in public ever again!"

"Could you be any less subtle!" I blush scarlet as a Gryffindor, but I can deal with it. I open the note. Did you know that Potter has a romantic streak? He draws hearts on all his love letters, three little ones overlapping each other. My name is framed in them. Kind of adorable, in a pre-teen way.

Despite the decorations, the letter is anything but romantic. In fact, it's almost commanding in that needy way that drives me absolutely insane. _Please, meet me at the Quidditch Pitch tonight. I'm sorry if I did anything wrong, just come! I need you!_

Cool, Millicent wasn't lying. Should I go meet him? He sounds so pathetic in his letter . . .

But . . . .

Hell, I'll think about it later.

* * *

Okay, pick your boy now! I left the ties loose so you can imagine who she gets stuck with. The story IS finished. 

I am very aware that Pansy probably comes across as fast-thinking, moody, and obnoxious. I personally like her best with all her moods, switching from faithful to adulterous, caring to inconsiderate. This is a slightly different - or maybe completely different- take of her from the books, where she is annoying and obsessed with Draco. She might be annoying still, but she doesn't hang over him QUITE as much.

I apologize if the story is hard to follow at some points, but that's how a teenage girl's mind tends to work. Well, in all honesty, I based Pansy's attitude on that of a friend of mine. Also, Millicent and Pansy's conversations are based on the way my friend and I talk sometimes. No, I don't condone cheating, and neither does my friend.

Any thoughts?


End file.
